


Yield

by PhantomsDaughter13



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breastfeeding, Childbirth, Dubious Anatomy, M/M, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, because hydra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomsDaughter13/pseuds/PhantomsDaughter13
Summary: The Winter Soldier comes to Steve Rogers for help with something Hydra has left him to deal with on his own. The problem is that he won't tell Steve what it is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Like with all my recent fics, if mpreg, graphic birth, or squicky pain bother you, you should head out now. You've been warned.

Steve hears heavy breathing the second he opens the front door to his apartment. He freezes, standing stock still as he tunes everything out and tries to locate where it is coming from. It is low and raspy, a quick panting from what sounds like a man, coming from the direction of his bedroom across the apartment. 

Clenching his right hand around his keys to keep them from jingling, he stuffs them in his pocket before closing the door softly and taking long, silent strides across the apartment, the rapid inhalations getting louder as he moves toward his door. Standing in front of it, he adjusts his position to be ready to deflect whatever kind of attack could be flung his way, bending his knees and rolling his shoulders down and back. 

Taking a deep breath, he reaches out and slowly pushes open the door. 

The lights are off, but Steve can see a hunched shape in the corner of his room around the corner of his bed. The rough breathing sounds wet and harsh, hitching as Steve steps over the threshold. 

Steve feels something catch in his chest, eyes wide.

“Bucky?” he asks incredulously, voice soft. 

The Winter Soldier is crouched in the corner of his bedroom, back to the walls with one hand on his knee and the other wrapped around his torso. His long hair is covering his face, seeming to stick in certain places to the shiny skin on his cheeks and neck. He gives no reaction to Steve’s words, continuing to breath heavily. 

“Buck, I’m gonna come closer,” Steve warns, walking slowly with his hands out. 

He sees Bucky’s shoulders tighten as he moves, but he stays where he is, not retaliating or running. He rocks slightly instead, seeming to squeeze tighter into himself. 

Steve keeps his movements open as he kneels in front of him, slightly to the side so it he isn’t boxing him in. 

“Are you hurt?” he quietly inquires, eyes drawn to how tightly the metal hand is pressing into his belly. “Sick?” 

Bucky’s gasping is loud and wet and fast, and Steve wants more than anything to touch and comfort him. 

Bucky solves that for him, reaching out fast and grabbing hard onto Steve’s arm with his flesh hand. He looks through him with wild eyes shining through wet, stringy hair. Steve covers his hand with his own, unease rising as he feels the tremor of Bucky’s fingers through the contact. 

“I’ve got you, Buck. Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

His mind is racing: he can’t see any blood, can’t smell any, but the black Kevlar casing Bucky’s body could be covering it up. He could have been shot, have ruptured organs, be poisoned. 

He reaches forward to tentatively tuck the wet hair behind Bucky’s ears, revealing his sallow, damp face. His cheeks are flushed red, his eyes clouded with his pupils swallowing the color of his irises. 

Bucky grimaces and bares his teeth suddenly, eyes clenching closed as his fingers claw hard at Steve’s arm. He grows still and silent, and Steve realizes that he’s holding his breath, pale face flushing with blood the longer he goes without oxygen. His body is completely rigid. 

Steve has no idea what to do, concern and fear starting to roar to life in his chest. He shakily rubs the hand Bucky has clenched like a manacle around his arm, thumb smoothing gently over the white knuckles. 

Bucky ends his silence with a deep grunt, panting quick and frantic through his teeth. 

“It’s coming,” he rasps. “They’ve never…”he grimaces, a flash of agony contorting his face as he widens his stance more. “They’ve never made me have one naturally before. They always cut them out.”

“Have what?” Steve asks with alarm, reaching out to try and pry Bucky’s metal arm off his abdomen. He can’t make it budge, but his grip isn’t thrown off. “Bucky, you need to tell me what’s wrong,” he says firmly, bending down to try and catch his gaze. 

“Get me up,” Bucky demands instead, unclenching his fingers from around Steve’s arm and instead gripping onto his shoulder. 

Startled by the intensity of his voice, Steve straightens and wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, supporting him into standing. As soon as his feet are under him, Bucky hunches forward and groans, knees bent slightly. 

“Bathtub,” he growls through his teeth, sweat beading along his hairline. He runs his hand across Steve’s shoulder to hold onto the opposite one, clearly having trouble holding himself up where he’s bent forward protectively around his torso. His hair has fallen loose and around his face again. 

Completely disconcerted, but too grateful to have Bucky here asking him for anything at all, Steve carefully guides him into his bathroom. 

Bucky’s steps are rough and staggering, like he is jolting something internal with each one. Steve helps hold him up, keep him slow. The distance from the corner of his room to the door of the bathroom is negligible, yet Bucky is already panting again. 

He props him up against the sink and brushes his hair back again, cupping one hand around his gaunt jaw, making him reluctantly look up. 

“This doesn’t look good, Buck. You need to tell me what’s happening so I can help.” 

Bucky just shakes his head and closes his eyes, tipping his head back and baring his throat unconsciously.

“You can’t. Not really,” he breaths shakily, bare fingers curling tight around the porcelain of the sink. 

“I must be able to do something,” Steve says tightly, hand moving down his neck to check his pulse. It is frantically fast, jumping against his skin so hard it can be seen from the outside. Bucky shakes him off before righting himself dizzily when he sways. 

“Get the water started. Hot,” he snarls, curling into himself more, reaching out to push Steve away from him. 

Steve rocks back, catching himself and deciding to do as he has been ordered, least he let Bucky suffer more. He quickly starts the water, turning it until it heats accordingly and plugs the bottom. 

He looks back to Bucky when he hears something hard and metallic hit the floor, seeing that Bucky is slowly and achingly trying to remove his clothing, the Kevlar coming off sluggishly as his shaking fingers struggle to unclasp it. He can’t stand up straight enough to get to where it is hooked in the middle of his back, and every time he tries he bends hard back over and shudders. 

“Here,” Steve assures, hurriedly getting to his feet and getting to his side, fingers nimbly unbuckling and unhooking until Bucky is down to a thin, sweat drenched shirt. Bucky’s metal arm is still hooked around his stomach, holding hard onto his body while Steve helps him remove his boots, pulling them off as he raises his feet one by one. 

Trying not to think too hard, Steve reaches up and unbuttons, unzips, and pulls his heavy cargo pants down, the fabric stiff and sticking to his thighs. Biting the inside of his cheek hard, Steve is gentle as he pulls the fabric away from his skin, gently rolling them down until he can pull them off. Bucky’s not wearing anything underneath. 

Something tells Steve to expect to see blood on Bucky’s thighs, but he can’t help the whine that escapes him when he actually sees it. The crux of his legs is smeared with the stuff, and it shines like it is fresh on his skin. The farther down it is, the older it seems, dried brown and thick and sticky. 

He puts a hand on his left calf and looks up, eyes going wide as Bucky struggles to remove his shirt, stuck fast. 

Besides the metal arm forcibly attached to his body, the terrible scars, the brutally hard definition of his muscles, which on their own would have made Steve clench his fists in fury, his nipples are dark and wide on his chest and his abdomen is swollen, low on his torso and bowing out between his hips. 

His skin looks bruised, dark blues and purples and quick healing greens and yellows, and Steve watches the metal arm clamp down roughly over himself when the shirt has been pulled off, fingers wrapping around his opposite hip and digging in. 

Steve kneels up and grasps hold of it again, circling his hand around his wrist and trying to pry it off. Bucky only moans in his throat and pulls away. 

“Buck,” Steve coaxes softly, brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of what is happening. Something isn’t clicking about this situation, but everything is happening too quickly for him to piece it together. 

“Water,” Bucky grunts, tossing his chin in the direction of the tub. He’s absolutely white, body shaking with small tremors. “Not much time.” 

Steve wraps an arm around his waist again, feeling how clammy his skin is as he helps him across the room and into the tub. He holds an arm across his back and under his flesh forearm as he shakily steps into the water and lowers himself down. 

Once immersed, he turns and drapes his right arm heavily along the side of the tub, letting his forehead rest down on it. He sighs deeply, rolling his shoulders. His back heaves gently with his breaths, and Steve sits on the cold, tiled floor before him. The water has already been stained a light pink, and continues to darken. 

Steve reaches forward and gathers his hair, pulling it off his neck and to the side. Bucky sighs again and shivers as Steve runs his fingers through it, combing through the damp strands gently and being gentle with the tangles and snarls he encounters. 

Bucky twitches and shifts, not lifting his head up from where it rests, but the rest of his body shivers and adjusts in discomfort. He moves up onto his knees and spreads them wide, the movement stirring and darkening the water as more blood seeps into it. His breath comes deeper, more deliberate. His fingers are clenched hard on the lip. 

A growl rumbles through his chest, a deep, low sound that brings goose bumps to Steve’s skin, the short hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

He reaches forward and cups Bucky’s hand where it was white knuckled and shaking, and he holds back a noise his grip is switched and he holds onto him firmly, squeezing painfully. 

Another growl echoes through the room before it is cut off, the lines of Bucky’s body reverberating with tension. He grunts deeply after a few moments before all of his muscles grow taut again. 

Steve moves his hand to the back of his neck, squeezing gently. 

A dark noise escapes Bucky’s throat as he starts to breath shallowly. He plunges his metal hand below the surface of the water and arches his back. 

Slowly, Steve runs his hands down between his shoulders, over the hollow of his spine, and back up again. He can feel how tightly his muscles are wound, how much tighter they get as Bucky once again holds his breath.

He groans after a good thirty or so seconds, and Steve can see how red his forehead has become, his neck. 

“Breathe, Buck, it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, palm cupping softly again around his nape, the skin hot. Bucky’s hand squeezes his hard enough that he can feel his bones creak.

“Can’t,” he gasps, his breath sounding wet and too fast. His head rocks where it rests on his arm. He takes a deep breath and goes still again, but a soft growl starts in his throat and grows louder. It cracks suddenly when he takes some huge, shuddering breaths that make his back heave and shoulder blades arch sharply before he’s at it again. 

Steve wants more than anything to be able to help, to do something to rally against this pain that Bucky is clearly feeling but won’t explain. 

A rough, choked noise escapes, and Bucky bows his back, curling farther forward into himself. Steve can’t feel his fingers anymore, gone completely numb with Bucky’s grip. 

“No,” Bucky moans, curving and writhing with sudden frantic energy, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. “Don’t go back–“ he cuts himself off with another grunt of effort, drawn out and long. When he stops, his shoulders tremble and shake for a few moments. 

He takes in a few tight, high breaths before he gives a rough yell, pulling himself up higher on his knees and bending over the tub enough that his forehead lands against the meat of Steve’s shoulder. Steve adjusts his grip and cradles the back of his skull, heart racing with a sickening pace in the wake of Bucky’s agony. His eyes burn, but he refuses to close them, needing to bear witness to whatever this is. 

Suddenly Bucky’s body sags as he gives a sharp whine, a heavy, dead weight landing on Steve's chest. His lungs pull in vast, heaving breaths while Steve holds his weight against him as best he can. 

The room echoes with the remnants of his scream. Steve knows for certain that he’s going to be hearing it in his dreams. 

His cheek presses softly against Bucky’s long hair, completely saturated through with sweat. Bucky rests against him for a long few minutes, Steve’s free hand in the middle of his back.

Steve can feel when tension begins to pull tight through his muscles, and the reluctant moan in his ear resounds with it. He feels firsthand how Bucky's form pulls tight, iron solid and just as unyielding. 

Rough, guttural noises escape Bucky’s throat, painful and grating. When he pulls in his quick breaths between him, he rocks back and forth, pulling Steve along with him. 

He widens his stance and huffs, moving back from Steve, but not relinquishing his hold on his hand. He instead adjusts so he has a firmer hold. 

Bucky’s face is ruddy, and he’s flushed all the way down to the top of his chest. His metal hand is still below the surface, between his legs and doing something that Steve can’t see. The water is too dark. 

Steve’s free hand stays around his waist, fingers spread against the warm skin of his back. He feels the pull and give of his muscles working exceedingly hard.

Bucky’s eyes clench closed and his expression contorts, teeth sharp and vicious in his mouth as his lips curl back. His chin rests against his breastbone, hair falling in a tangled curtain and covering his face. 

Steve watches as the curve of his belly pulls in taut, and he moves his hand around to feel its cinch and contraction. His large hand covers a great deal of the bulge, and he feels something hot flare through his own lower abdomen and groin at the contact.

The sheer power of the spasm under his fingertips must be agonizing, and Bucky lets loose another grunt as he pulls his abdominals in even tighter. 

Bucky suddenly swears, letting Steve go and frenziedly tumbling back so he is seated in the water, pulling his knees up so they rise above the bloody water. “It’s stuck,” he gasps, straining once more and arching his back. 

He pulls hard on his legs and curls forward, growling deep and animalisticly. His face turns from red to purple the longer he holds himself up.

Steve swallows hard when he realizes that he can see the fear thrumming through the set of Bucky’s shoulders, in the whites of his eyes, in how his fingers, metal and flesh, dig into the backs of his thighs. 

“Buck,” he pleads nervously, leaning closer. All he can smell is copper, and he’s starting to feel nauseous. “Tell me what to do.” 

He receives no answer, Bucky too far into this surge of pain. He slumps back bonelessly when it ends and closes his eyes, breathing fast and loud with his head tilted back onto the lip of the tub. His entire body trembles. 

“Buck,” he implores. “Bucky, please.” He reaches over the expanse of soiled water and brushes the hair off his forehead and neck, thumbing his cheekbone. Bucky’s eyes slit open and hazily take him in. “Tell me how to help.” 

Bucky rolls his head on his neck before plunging both hands between his thighs, bowing forward and moaning with discomfort. Steve runs his hands down his arms, metal and flesh, and follows them beneath the dark, tepid water.

His fingers find and quest between Bucky’s, and he feels his heart stop. 

There is something round and hard under his fingertips. He feels his eyes well and blur as his thumb runs over a tiny ear. 

“Oh Lord,” he whispers shakily. 

“It’s stuck,” Bucky pronounces, voice thin and shuddering. “Sh-shoulders. C-can’t get them out.” 

He rocks his hips to open them further and Steve can feel him push, the little head straining forward but not moving any further. Bucky lets out a frustrated growl as his hands wrap back around his knees, roughly pulling them up and back to frame his lower body. 

Both of Steve’s hands hold the head securely in his large palms, thumbs supporting what little bit of neck is exposed. 

“Push, Buck, you can do it,” he urges. “Come on.” 

Bucky’s groan turns back into a yell, pulling himself up hard and grinding his teeth together. His face is a dark red, his eyes squeezed closed. 

Steve can’t feel movement. He hunkers down more and tentatively takes one hand to touch around the stretched skin where the baby is caught. 

Bucky gasps sharply and reaches down to grab Steve’s wrist, shuddering, but a new contraction takes hold. Grasping tight onto Steve, he pulls on his arm as leverage, curling over his belly once more and bearing down. 

There is still no movement, either forward or back, and Steve knows that he needs to do something. 

“We need to get you up,” he pronounces when Bucky collapses back once more, looking minutes away from his body giving out. “Come on, I’ve got you.” 

Keeping one hand on the delicate curve of the baby’s head, he curls a hand around Bucky’s back and braces his weight as he drags him to standing. 

A rush of bloody water falls from him, red drops sticking along his skin before sluicing down in rhythm with his trembling. 

Grunting with pain and staggering, he stands bowlegged as he reaches down with his flesh hand to hold onto the baby. Bucky breathes a thick sob as Steve steadies him. 

“C’mon, out of the tub,” Steve murmurs, hand around Bucky’s back firm as shaking legs fight to find purchase while being spread so far apart. 

Steve takes Bucky’s metal arm and braces it on his shoulder before reaching the other to hold under his flesh arm. 

“Squat down.” It takes all his strength to slowly and smoothly get Bucky down onto his toes, knees and thighs spread wide. 

Bucky groans and rocks, flesh hand latching onto Steve’s shoulder while his metal arm wraps around his belly again. His fingers dig in hard, and while Steve wants to pull it off, he stops when Bucky makes a sharp choking noise and bends at the waist, fingers leaving crescent moon shaped marks with his fingernails on Steve’s skin. 

He huffs a few breaths, then strains and pushes, biting his lip so hard that he draws blood. Steve takes a deep breath and reaches his hand up to cup his cheek, but he freezes when Bucky suddenly seizes up and screams, tendons sharp in his neck. 

Steve moves both his hands between his legs, cupping around the fragile skull as he suddenly feels the body start to give. 

“Push, Buck, hard, you’re so close, a little more.” 

A sharp growl rumbles and shakes through Bucky’s body as he bears down, squeezing his muscles harder and harder. He suddenly pushing in on his stomach roughly with his metal arm, and Steve sees the first shoulder stretch him wide. His skin is white and thin around it. 

“It’s coming, Buck, keep going! Don’t stop, don’t stop.” His voice is strangled in his throat as he watches Bucky struggle, blood dripping down his chin. 

In a huge heaving strain and a gush of fluids, Steve gasps as the second shoulder and body emerge and he catches the baby in his hands. He laughs wetly as it coughs and begins to cry, tiny, chubby hands flailing in anger at the indignity of being born. 

“I-it’s a girl,” he whispers, awed and overcome. He looks through tear-filled eyes at where Bucky collapses in a heap, bloody and covered in sweat. His head is bowed and wet tangles of hair cover his eyes. 

Careful of the still pulsing cord, Steve moves to place the baby on Bucky’s chest, still rising and falling rapidly. His flesh arm comes up around her, hand cupping the back of her delicate skull.

Uncaring of the blood and the fluids, Steve moves to sit with his back to the still full tub, gently maneuvering Bucky’s body up and against the support of his own. He feels Bucky tense at his touch, but he’s shaking too much to move away. Steve's hands rest on his sides, still heaving as he catches his breath. 

The baby mewls, little legs kicking out between louder cries. She’s flushed up into a bright pink, her hair a dark messy smattering on her head. 

Breathing shakily, Bucky shifts her up so she’s more secure against his chest, moving her carefully so she can latch on and start nursing. 

Steve gently rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, listening to her little contented grunts.

Steve reaches down and gently brushes his fingers up and down her back, marveling at just how tiny she is. His eyes follow the path of the umbilical cord, and he swallows at the fresh blood he sees coating Bucky’s inner thighs and dripping on the tile. 

“How are you feeling,” he asks in concern, hand coming to gently cup his still bloated belly. Bucky moans and Steve removes it. 

“Compromised,” he intones hoarsely.

“You need to rest someplace safe so you can heal,” Steve says seriously, moving instead to put his hand back on the smooth skin of Bucky’s flank. “Stay here. Let me take care of you both.” 

Bucky shakes his head, already beginning to struggle to his knees, baby still suckling at his breast. He snags his cargo pants and reaches in one of the legs, pulling out a knife. He unsheathes it. 

“Get something to tie off the cord.” Steve thinks quickly before standing, moving over to pull out a small container of floss. 

“Tie it close to her stomach and then a couple inches away,” he directs, shifting uncomfortably as his belly visibly tenses. 

With unsteady hands, Steve ties off the cord and cuts it when it stops pulsing. Bucky rocks back as his knees come back up. Steve looks to him quizzically. 

“Placenta,” he murmurs, and Steve scrambles up again to grab a few towels, placing one under Bucky’s hips as he helpfully raises them. He starts pushing again with soft grunts, face contorting with discomfort. Steve swallows his queasiness as the fleshy afterbirth is expelled, looking up as Bucky sighs with relief. 

Rolling it up in the fabric, Steve places it aside until he decides what to do about it. He sits back, uncaring of the blood on his hands and arms, staining his pants and his shirt. He quietly takes Bucky in as he gazes down at the tiny infant in his arms, her sucking beginning to slow. 

“Stay here,” Steve implores again. 

Bucky shakes his head where he sits, not looking up. 

“You came to me. You let me help you. There must have been a reason.” Steve can feel overwhelming panic and protectiveness swelling beneath his ribs. “Please.” 

Bucky continues to regard his daughter, her little hands coming up to rest and clutch at his chest.

“I’ll protect her with my life, Buck. You know I will.” 

The room is silent before Bucky whispers, “I know.” 

Bucky looks completely wrecked, dark bruises under his eyes, skin pale. Steve can see where the bite has already scabbed over on his bottom lip, though his chin is a mess of sticky red. His entire body is shaking and slick with sweat, blood, and fluids in the aftermath of being turned inside out. 

Bucky suddenly lifts his head and gazes at Steve seriously, eyes truly meeting his for the first time. 

“Not for long,” he mutters, resting back heavily and blinking slowly. 

Steve lets out the breath that has been caught in his chest since he came home. 

He moves to wet a washcloth in the sink with warm water, gently wiping the blood and fluid from the baby’s body as she squirms and unlatches, whimpering in protest.

Bucky sits rigidly and watches his movements shrewdly, but he doesn’t move her away, allowing him to have the contact. 

Steve would take that for now. Everything else could come later.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 1/7: Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments! Please keep them coming so I know how I can improve! Also feel free to share your thoughts or ideas!


End file.
